Steadfast
by linnie kinda spinnie
Summary: '"I wasn't even mentioned," he growls, his voice like thunder. Or was that actual thunder? The girl isn't sure, "It was like... It was like-kuh I didn't even exist anymore," he spits venomously, snarling in her face. But, when she looks in his eyes, and listens harder to his voice, she almost detects a hint of... Sorrow isn't the right word. It was more he sounds, looks... Lost'


**A/N: Just a little one-shot I thought of after seeing TDKR the second time. I hope you enjoy it. **

**Disclaimer: My name is nowhere in the credits of the film, so clearly I am not involved in TDKR or the Batman franchise what's so ever.**

**P.S The opinions stated in this story are not necessarily my own.**

_Well is that one night  
Going off that grid  
I never said you didn't I never said you did  
But all of my favourite stories are about you_

_I said bleed out your heart  
If it's still beating for someone else  
Break all those chains  
That keep you tethered that keep you safe _

_**Wolves- Big Wreck**_

"So," she asks, "What do you think?"

The pair walks side by side out of the theatre. The girl has a content expression on her face, almost dreamy as she stares up at the theatre lobby's ceiling. A picture of Luke Skywalker holding his Light Saber morphs into Hannibal Lector grinning manically behind his muzzle, which then morphs into Jaws, a T-Rex, Superman, Harry Potter, a cowboy on his horse, the Titanic. She smiles up at it one last time, breathing in the smell of stale popcorn, before turning back to her companion.

The man's shoulders are hunched, and he shuffles along beside her with lopsided strides. The girl notices him lick his lips, and decides he's thinking over her question very carefully. She already has an idea as to what his opinion might be. Throughout the movie, he had fidgeted in his seat, and made small grunting noises. His fingers, long bony and pale, had tapped on the arm rest unrelentingly, and had become blurred during the exciting parts. He shifted positions often; lounging back in his seat, leaning forward, sitting right on the edge. She liked it best when his body would incline toward hers. He had been totally engrossed in the film, as had she.

"What did you think? Did you like it?" she presses further, not surprised or concerned by his silence. She's used to it by now. The man looks over one hunched shoulder, staring down at her with searing black eyes. She shivers, then smiles to herself; after all this time, he still has that affect on her.

"It was," he begin, his voice a quiet rumble, though the girl knows it can reach ridiculous pitches and volumes. In public, he doesn't want to stand out. Sometimes, that makes the girl sad.

"It was, ah, _disappointing_," the man decides finally, licking at his lips. The girl frowns. They walk out of the theatre and into the warm, summer night. Their strides match, and their hands are _this close_ to touching. Sometimes the girl fantasizes about reaching out and taking his hand in hers. She lusts for his hot, spidery fingers to curl around hers. But she knows he wouldn't allow it. So she keeps her hand an inch from his. She likes to think, though, she can feel the heat coming off them and onto her own skin.

"Disappointing?" the girl echoes, looking up at his face. A breeze blows his long, wavy hair around, and the girl longs to touch it. Instead, she pulls on the cuffs of her light sweater, and watches the man's expression. He wrinkles his nose, scowling deeply to himself. She sees his tongue roll along the inside of his cheek, and he side glances down at her.

"Mhm," he hums, the sound deep in his chest. He reaches up and pushes his hair out of his face. She wishes he'd let her cut it for him, and maybe wash it more often. It wasn't as bad as it had been before, but hygiene was still not on his list of important things in life.

"Well, why?" she asks, tucking her own hair behind her ears. The pair walks further away from the theatre, all the way out of the plaza. Behind them, the girl can hear the whoops of excited teenagers and the murmurs of the moviegoers; no doubt discussing the same thing that they were.

"Well-_uh_," the man says, his tongue whizzing over his bottom lip, "I didn't like the, uh, _villain_," The girl sighs and rolls her eyes. Not this again.

"He was, uh... he was _boring_," he goes on, speaking with more fervor than before, "He was all _brawn _and _control_. And it was-_zuh_ boring,"

"Well, maybe that was the point," the girl muses, "He was a challenge physically, not necessarily intellectually,"

"Oh no, he was smart-_tuh_, but he lacked... He lacked..." his eyes rolls his upwards, searching for the word.

"Charisma?" she supplies, wondering where he's going with this. They stop at the cross walk, waiting for the little white man to appear.

"No, no, _no_," his voice becomes annoyed, impatient. His tongue laves at his lips almost frenetically, and his hands pull into fists. The girl notes all this, but is unconcerned.

"He had cha-_ris_-ma, and _passion. _He, ah, he _believed _in what he was doing, and that he was right-_tuh_, but he just..._Lacked_ something_," _the man all but growls. The girl nods, agreeing with him.

"He was missing something," she concurs, "He was just so..."

"_Predictable,"_ the man snarls, finishing her sentence, "He was just _bad_. _Evil_. He lacked a personality, _layers. _He was too easy to figure out. There was nothing _mysterious _about him. He was under-_standable_. His motives were _clear_, his actions _justifiable_. Besides all his abundant, ah, _strength_, he wasn't a _challenge_," His fists unclench, and clench again, over and over. The girl notices the light change, and steps onto the street. The man follows instantly, his steps even more erratic than before. She can hear the growl in his throat; see the snarl on his face.

"I agree. Besides being strong, he really had nothing else to offer up. Take away his strength, he was nothing. And that made him so beatable," the girl replies, but then thinks of something, "Although, he did have all those followers. He had entire army. He united people, and it made him stronger. They were stronger together."

"Yeah," he agrees impatiently, "But an army still has people, and people _die_. People's alliances change. People get _scared_. If they think they might _lose_, or get hurt or die, people change _sides_. I've seen it. You get a guy, who, ah, who has _believed _in something all his life-_fuh_, and then one day, he finds-_zuh _something _better_ to believe in, something _easier_, and he will change sides. Just. Like. _That_," he snaps a finger, the sound metallic in her ears. The girl looks over her shoulder, and sees the theatre shrinking in the distance. The lights coming from the building are beautiful against the over cast night sky. The girl distractedly wonders if they are going to get rained on.

"Okay," she concedes, "But not everyone is like that. To them, it was like a religion. A hard core religion. Most people don't just give up on a religion," she stares pointedly at him, and they cross a street. A car goes by, and a teenage boy sticks his head out, like he's going to yell something. One look at the man, and the kid rears back with a horrified expression, and the car speeds away. The girl chuckles to herself, but the man just continues walking. She knows he's used to it.

"Until they lose-_zuh _their _hope_. Lose their _faith-ah,_" he counters fiercely. The girl see's the fire in her eyes, and smirks at him.

"And you'd know all about that, huh?" she drawls, tilting her head, not unlike him when he asks her a question. The man returns her smirk, and her's becomes a full blown smile.

"People- _Humans _are designed to follow someone," he continues on, his voice more conversational, "And he used that to his ad-_vantage_. And while that is a quality a good villain should have-_uh_, the ultimate villain shouldn't _need_ faithful followers. He should be able to defeat the _hero _all by himself,"

"But that's what he tried to do," she returns, "His lackey's were only there to make sure no one got in the way,"

"Humm," he murmurs in his throat, considering her words with a flick of his tongue, "Yeah, your right. But he still needed them. Including, that little, ah, little _tart_ of his,"

"He loved her," she says, maybe a little wistfully. In the distance, she can see a patch of sky, and the stars trying their best to break through the inky blackness of the night.

"Exactly," he hisses, "He has _baggage_. Something to lose-_zuh_. That, besides his little mask thingy, made him beatable. When you have nothing to lose, you are in-_vincible_. He. Was. Not. Because of her, he was _bound _to lose, eventually. If it wasn't his mask, it was her that would be his _downfall_." They turn down an alleyway, which normally at this time of night, would frighten the girl. But with him, she feels safe. She smiles softly, ironically at that thought.

"Then you could say the same for most heroes. All heroes have love interests. Iron Man has Pepper Potts, Spider-Man has M.J, Superman has Lois Lane. It makes for a more interesting story," she argues lightly, running her hand along the fence that winds down the sides of the alleyway. The man scoffs, shaking his head at her words.

"And look how that works_-zuh_ out for them, hmm? The villain _uses_ the little tarts against them. Love, for both villains and heroes-_zah_, are _always_ a weakness," the man disputes, sucking on his right cheek.

"Fine," the girl agrees reluctantly, "But it must be nice to come home to someone after a night of kicking bad guy butt," she looks up at him, trying to hide her dreamy face. He glances down at her, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

"Maybe. But is it _worth it _when they, ah, get in the way, or killed-_duh_? _Hmm_? If these, uh, these _heroes_ really loved these dames, they would end it. They would get them out of their lives-_zuh_," he responds cynically. She shakes her head. She understands why he can't possibly understand something like love, but it doesn't make her any less annoyed. Or sad for that matter.

"What about after they retire? Won't it be nice to know you have someone to turn to?" she questions, turning right once the pair walks out of the alleyway.

"Evil never dies-_zuh_," he says cryptically, flicking his tongue out.

"But people do," she retorts just as ominously, "Even villains. Eventually, either the villains will all die out, or the heroes all will. And because in fiction, light always wins, the villains will be the ones to die out. So eventually, I think all heroes can retire,"

"Okay, yeah sure, people die. _But_ someone is born every day. One of them- at least _one_ of them- is bound to be evil. There will always be a new threat-_tuh_ in the world," the man points out, blowing at a piece of his scraggly hair that had blown in his face. The girl nods, agreeing. She agrees with most things he says. He always seems to be right. And he's a very convincing man. Very good at persuasion.

"Your right," and she always tells him when he is, "But that shouldn't be the retired heroes issue anymore. That's a whole new generation's problem. A whole new hero's arch enemy,"

"Sure, sure," he waves off her words, agreeing with her but not with any conviction, "But certain heroes just, ah, _can't _retire. Can't _move on_. And _He_ is one of those," his eyes light up at the mention of his absolute _favourite _person. The girl almost smiles; sometimes she thinks she should be jealous over _their_ relationship, but most of the time, she thinks it's cute. Not in a fluffy way, no, no. Just, sort of... Endearing, in a way. The devotion the man has for his _friend_ is engaging, if not disturbing.

"Normally, I'd agree with you, but, you saw the ending. _He _did move on," the girl says, watching his face contort.

"Yeah," he hisses, "They got that com-pah-_letely_ wrong. _He _wouldn't just leave his city, not for some dumb broad-_uh_,"

"I dunno," she opposes softly, "Maybe it wasn't just her. Maybe _He _was just, I dunno, ready to move on, y'know? She just helped him do it," She feels the man tense beside her, his strides becoming tauter as they cross another street. She can practically hear him grinding his teeth. The girl agrees with him most of the time... And even now, is sometimes a little afraid when she doesn't.

"Wrong," he mutters under his breath, "Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_..." She lets him rant. Lets him get it all out. She believes that venting his spleen is good for him. For anyone. Bottling up emotions is unhealthy, and dangerous. For both parties.

"I'm not wrong," the girl defends herself, surprised by the passion in her voice, "But maybe I'm not right. It doesn't really matter anyways. I can't change what happened, and neither can you,"

She's surprised when the man stops abruptly. But isn't when she feels a rain drop on her nose. She turns to the man, eyeing him. His head tilts downwards, his oily hair shielding his face. His shoulders are right up to his ears, and his body is completely rigid. She sees his chest moving up and down, and can hear him panting.

"_I could have_," he says so quietly, but the girl flinches as if he had yelled, "I could have changed it-_uh_," she hears the glide of his tongue over his lips. His fingers dance by his sides, erratically knotting into fists every few, un-patterned seconds. Then he's coming at her, crushing her shoulder bones, looming over her and breathing humid, heavy breaths in her face. Another drop of rain hits her forehead.

"I. _Could_. Have," he snarls viscously at her, his eyes black and filled with fire and madness, "I woulda _changed _it. It woulda been _better_! I woulda changed it!" He shakes her roughly, and her teeth clack painfully together. She tries to remain calm; she's used to this.

"Yes," she says calmly, gently, "You could have. You definitely would have. But, you can't. You need to accept this," she takes a hold of his wrists, trying her best not to shudder at the raw heat his skin exudes. His hands, with their skeletal fingers, clamp down harder for one painful and admittedly frightening moment.

"I wasn't even _mentioned_," he growls, his voice like thunder. Or was that actual thunder? The girl isn't sure, "It was like... It was like-_kuh_ I didn't even _exist_ anymore," he spits venomously, snarling in her face. But, when she looks in his eyes, and listens harder to his voice, she almost detects a hint of... Sorrow isn't the right word. It was more he sounds, looks... _Lost__._ And the girl's heart shatters.

"The director," she chokes on the lump on her throat, "He-he couldn't. Because that would be making up an excuse for such a terrible tragedy. It would be tarnishing the actor's memory," she reasons, almost pleads with the man to understand. Above them, rain begins to fall softly. Raindrops roll off the man's hair, running down his face and curling around his strong, squared jaw-line. The girl feels the rain pool on her scalp, and then flows in rivers along her neck and face.

"It wasn't because he didn't want you, or because he didn't think you would be great in the movie. Or even because he thought you weren't worthy of going up against _Him _again in the conclusion," she goes on, her voice strangled but growing stronger with every word, "You are one of the most loved, most feared and most respected person in the world. Fictional or otherwise. So stop this _fucking _pity party, and be the sick, sadistic bastard I love! Get me?" she holds onto his shoulders now, ignoring his flinch, and shakes him as hard as she can. Their faces are now a mere inch apart, their breath mixing, both silent but panting. The sound of the rain, growing harder and pelting the ground un-relentlessly was hardly noticed by the pair. The girl squeezes his shoulders, almost as hard as the man is.

"The man I love, the man I respect and practically fucking _worship_," she whispers fervently, "Would not mope over something like this. He would laugh, make some creepy joke, and move the hell on," she lets go of his shoulders, and backs away. He allows it, staring at her with eyes that give nothing away, and yet sear with some strange black fire. She faces him, not caring that her sweater is soaking, and that it would likely shrink and she could never wear it again. Or, for that matter, her hair was going to be ruined. And he stares right back, stoic and burning at the same time, his tense shoulders rising and falling with every breath he takes.

She's not taken aback when he begins to chuckle. It starts out soft, rumbly, but crescendo's into full a bodied, high pitched cackle. His shoulder's shake violently with the force of the laughter. She takes a hesitant step forward when he bends over, wheezing and laughing. She's not concerned for his sanity; trying to analyze that is far too complicated, and something she had given up on a long time ago. Mostly she's concerned that the people in the neighbourhood would hear it, and come out to investigate. And that would end very badly. The man is still doubled over, struggling for breath as he continues to giggle, and the girl becomes impatient.

"Honestly," she mutters to herself, then turns to him, "Can you walk and laugh or something, 'cos we were supposed to be back fifteen minutes ago," and with that she twirls on her heel and returns to walking down the street. She knows the issue wasn't really resolved, and it was likely it never would be. When something like this happened, they'd discuss, argue or scream at each other for awhile, but eventually pretend it never happened. She knew this case was the same. The man giggles breezily, and jogs to catch up with her.

"Yah, heh, ah yanno," he says- or at least tries to- through the giggles, "I, ah-heh, I never did ask-_kuh_ you what ya thought of it," Her mouth quirks sardonically. Usually, when he wants to know her opinion, he either wants an ego boost, or to mock her. She isn't sure what he wants this time.

"I liked it," she starts, her voice wispy, "I thought it wrangled it all up nicely. The trilogy, I mean. No loose ends, nothing was unexplained. The twists were good. The new characters fit in the movie well. The effects, stunts and fighting was awesome. The entire thing was super intense. And dark. It wasn't a fun movie. There was a lot of depressing parts," she nods to herself, remembering how the tears had rolled down her face during the film, "But I really liked it. It was satisfying. I liked the end. I think _He_ deserved his happy ending," she smiles wistfully, looking up so the rain hits her face. She likes happy endings, always has. She likes the thought that after all a person has gone through, all a person has suffered through, that in the end they get rewarded for it. It's a nice thought. The girl has always preferred fiction to reality.

The man ceases his laughter, but the girl can tell the mood is still much more light hearted. He snorts at her opinion, and she grins. So, it was to mock. That's fine, she's more than used to it. They continue walking, silently, but comfortably. Sometimes, they didn't need to talk.

"You know," and sometimes, they do, "I still think yours was the best,"

The man looks almost startled, and he peers down at her with an emotion that is difficult to decipher. The surprise is there, and something else. Maybe affection, or even gratitude. The girl can never be sure, because he looks away again. But, one of his knuckles brushes against hers, in the lightest and barest of touches, and the girl hopes and fantasizes it was intentional. But, she couldn't be sure.

And the pair walks down the empty street, as the rain falls down on them, with their hands side by side, almost touching.

But not quite.

**END**

**A/N: So, you can take this anyway you wish. That's the way it was written. It can be AU, or just the girl's imagination, or even just a guy who shares the same mannerisms as a certain clown. Also, the lack of actual names in the story is on purpose. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you would like to share what you think is happening in the story, or just what you thought of it, please review/PM me. As well, criticism and advice is welcome. **

_**linnie kinda spinnie**_


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